


Something Borrowed

by naturegirlrocks



Series: Something new, something old... [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Bondlock, F/M, Gen, Gladstone is a puppy, Holmes Brothers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturegirlrocks/pseuds/naturegirlrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is asked to organise a birthday party. But it's not an easy task when the birthday boy is a MI6-agent, your genius boyfriend is showing signs of madness, and you are having maternal feelings for a dog .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This part will probably contain some crack, but I will try to keep it as realistic as I can. 
> 
> I will try to post a chapter a day to keep myself writing. I'm doing this on my phone, and I have no beta. Corrections will be made when I see the mistakes. English is not my first language. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kind response for the first part.

John was taking Gladestone for a walk through the park. The three-month-old bulldog was watching the falling autumn leaves with such suspicion that John was sure the animal was channeling Sherlock.

For some reason, Sherlock detested autumn, and was growing more sour as the season progressed. John was more and more often taking these walks by himself.

"It's just leaves, boy," said John, hunkering down to show the puppy a lovely red maple leaf.

Gladstone tried to eat it. When that didn't work, he tried to kill it. John chuckled as he kept on teasing the puppy with more leaves. It soon turned into a game, and Gladstone barked excitedly while waiving his little curled tail in the air.

A few minutes later Gladstone was exhausted, and John a bit out of breath from laughing.

"Time to head back," he told the puppy. "Let's see of our combined puppy eyes can make Sherlock take his tea. Of course you have to lead by good example.

He scratched the panting dog's head as he began walking towards the park gates.

"John!" a sudden familiar voice called.

John turned to see a thin dark haired man, in his early thirties, wearing glasses and a big anorak, walking towards him.

"Freddie," he greeted Sherlock's younger brother, Gladstone began struggling in his grip. "What are you doing here? Or is that classified? Is the park under a cyberattack?"

"No," laughed Freddie, taking the very excited Gladstone in his arms. "Though that is a Doctor Who-episode I would love to see. I was just going out for lunch and ended up taking a long walk instead. I mostly work underground so I felt the need to get out."

"Have you eaten?" John asked. "We were just going home for tea, I'm sure Sherlock won't mind."

"Actually," Freddie put Gladstone down on the ground. "That sounds great. I'm starving, and I have been thinking of making you a visit. Thank you."

"Where's James?" asked John as they left the park and started walking towards Baker Street.

"Budapest, I think," Fredddie shrugged. "You never know with him. Once he was in space, but that was before I knew him."

John was sure that Freddie knew exactly where James was. It couldn't be easy having a relationship with a man who constantly was away, and in danger. Freddie worried, John could tell.

"Do you have a case at the moment?" asked Freddie, changing the subject.

"Only cold ones. Sherlock is still trying to earn the Yard's trust back, but he's getting there."

They reached the front door of 221B. Gladstone sniffed the stoop and then turned his head away, looking longingly down the street. John knew the sign.

"Looks like Sherlock has gone out."

He lifted the puppy up under his arm and opened the door. He had read somewhere that young dogs, especially the more stocky breeds, were not supposed to walk stairs while their limbs were still growing.

"Wouldn't he have called you?" asked Freddie as the climbed the stairs up to the second floor.

"He only calls me if he wants something from me," John shrugged and put Gladstone down on the floor, unhooking the leach. "He probably wanted to do something on his own..." he paused. "I hope he's not buying cigarettes."

"I've actually never been here before," Freddie looked around. "Only seen it in pictures."

"I thought we found all of Mycroft's cameras," John moved to the kitchen to out the kettle on, Gladstone at his heals.

"You never find all of Mycroft's cameras,"

"I know."

John was looking through the breadbox, trying to distinguish which one of the breads that was for eating and which was for experiments. He decided not to take any chances and to fry some sausages and eggs instead. The tomatoes he bought yesterday also seemed alright.

"What did you do for Sherlock's birthday?"

Freddie entered the kitchen. He was carrying Sherlock's laptop. John thought he ought to say something, but figured that since Freddie was a computer genius, MI6, and Sherlock's brother there was little he could say.

"He hadn't returned by his last birthday," John shifted a little. "But we went to London Zoo for mine. He liked the night creatures."

"James turns forty-five next week," Freddie was casually hooking up his own computer to Sherlock's. "I really want to throw him a party. But that might be difficult."

"How so?" John put food on three plates, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't be long, and then gave Gladstone a small piece of sausage.

"He's an orphan with no living relatives, all his friends are in the service, or a service. And my family, well. You know them. And then I don't really have the time to plan anything..." he sighed, pressing a few keys. "I basically work around the clock. I managed to get that weekend off, though, as long as there aren't any emergencies..."

"I think a party sounds like a very good idea," John placed the plates of food on a clear spot on the table. "I can help you, if you want to."

"I couldn't possibly ask you to that..."

"To do what?" asked Sherlock's voice from the door.

It was a testament to how good the food smelt that Gladstone hadn't noticed Sherlock entering, but at the sound of his voice the puppy got so excited that he head-butted Sherlock's shin just to get to him. The detective smiled fondly at the animal.

"We are planning James's birthday," said John. "Would you like to help?"

"No," said Sherlock, taking the sausage from his plate on the counter and dropping it on the floor to Gladstone.

"Stop it," John got up from his seat, stopping the puppy from swallowing the sausage whole. "He's just a baby, you are going to give him ingestion."

"Are you finding anything interesting?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes to his younger brother. "All of the spyware in place?"

"You are crap at organising your files," said Freddie. "Where were you?"

"I needed some planting soil," Sherlock stabbed an fried egg with a fork, stuffed it whole in his mouth and chewed.

"That's attractive," muttered John, slicing the sausage into better puppy-sized pieces. "Why don't you be like your brother and sit down to eat like a good boy?"

Both of the other men stopped what they were doing to look at him. John blushed, realising what he had just said.

"I'm dating my mother," said Sherlock.

He then sighed and walked over to the ten kilo plastic bag of planting soil by the door, and started dragging it towards the bathroom.

Freddie just giggled into his food, and continued checking over Sherlock's computer.


	2. Two

"So what do you think?"

It was about an hour later, Freddie had transferred a budget for the party to John's bank account, and left after optimising John's computer as well.

There was sure to be some spyware there, but John had already accepted that his life was never again going to be as private as before the Holmeses. In some strange way he appreciated their concern for his safety. He was in a way paying them back by keeping Sherlock safe. Gladstone was snoring loudly on the sofa.

"About what?"

Sherlock was wearing latex-gloves. He was planting small green seedlings in the soil-filled bathtub, John just hoped it wasn't marihuana.

"About the party."

"You asking me what I think of throwing a trained assassin a surprise birthday party?" Sherlock smirked as he patted the earth around a small stem with his fingertips. "I think the person next to him is going to end up with a broken neck before you even have time to get to the second syllable of 'surprise'."

John shifted uncomfortably as he sat down on the closed toilet lid. That scenario would be rather unfortunate.

"Do you really think that would happen?"

"His kind of people react on instinct," Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe his first thought will be to attack. Maybe it will be to protect Freddie with his own body. I deduce people, John. I'm not a psychic."

"So..." John licked his lips nervously and rubbed his palms together. "No surprises then? Maybe we can say it's just a small party and surprise him with a big?"

"Why are you doing this anyway?" Sherlock looked away from his possibly illegal garden to John. "You only met Bond once since Jennie's wedding, and then you became so drunk that he had to help me carry you home."

"Don't remind me," grunted John.

Jennie and Victor's two-month-wedding-anniversary-slash-post-op-celebration-party last month had been a blast, and the alcohol had been free. John had woken up the next day at noon with a massive hangover, a very naked boyfriend draped over him, and lipstick marks in at least five different shades all over his torso, only one matching the smeared colour on Sherlock's lips. He sighed.

"I'm doing it because he is your brother's boyfriend. I like them, and I like you. I would have thought that me making your little brother happy would make you happy too."

"It does make me happy," Sherlock placed his dirty gloved hands on John's thighs and moved in between them, walking on his knees. "I like them both too, and I like that you care so much."

They shared a light but lingering kiss. John smiled as he pressed his forehead against Sherlock's.

"Are we going to get in trouble the next time Lestrade makes a drug-bust?"

Sherlock evaded the question with another kiss, deeper this time. John felt he didn't really care what the plants were, as long as Sherlock wasn't consuming them. He was going to keep a sharp lookout and try to keep count of all the leaves, but for now he was satisfied with the kissing.

They were interrupted by Sherlock's phone ringing. John smiled because he was used to these interruptions, he almost expected them. A call, a timer, or a knock on the door, it didn't matter what drew Sherlock away, because he knew that there would be a next time, and a next.

"It's Lestrade," said Sherlock looking down on the display. "Burglary at a fine arts collector's house. He says it's a 'seven', which means it's a 'five'."

"Are we going?" John stroked Sherlock's hair.

"It's this or that silly murder-suicide from ninety-nine that obviously..."

"I'll call him and say that we will be there," John got up from the toilet seat to his phone in the living room. "Wash up and change your shirt before we leave."

"John?"

John turned back to look at Sherlock who was standing in his knees on the bathroom floor next to a tub full of ambiguously legal flora.

"What?"

"Nothing," Sherlock got to his feet. "Take Gladstone to Mrs. Hudson, I'll be down in a moment."

John nodded with a small smile. He knew by the hesitation in Sherlock that the man had something emotional on his mind, but John had learned never to push if it didn't seem urgent.

He managed to deposit the puppy to Mrs Hudson without waking him. She was only happy to 'babysit', as she called it. She had once made a joke that Gladstone was probably the closest she would ever get to a grandchild. John had felt both touched and sad at that.

"That young man earlier," she asked as she cuddled the sleeping dog. "Was he a client?"

"That was Sherlock's younger brother," John frowned. "Didn't you know?"

"Oh," she blinked in surprise. "That was him? Well, I only met him once long time ago. He visited Sherlock in the hospital at the same time as me.

"When was this?" John asked since the words 'Sherlock' and 'hospital' in the same sentence always made him nervous.

"About fifteen years ago," she lowered her voice and stepped a bit closer, John leaned in. "I was after I returned from Florida, after my husband's... well, you know. I wanted to thank Sherlock again for helping me with... all that. When I started to look for him, I was contacted by Mycroft, and he took me to see Sherlock in the hospital. Overdose," she shook her head sadly. "Anyway, that's where I met the younger one, Freddie. Haven't seen him since. Very secretive boy."

"Very," agreed John.

"No time for gossip," called Sherlock as he descended the stairs and waking Gladstone in the process. "Lestrade just found a body, which defiantly makes it a 'seven'."

John shook his head over Sherlock's fondness for dead people, and gave Mrs Hudson a smile, and Gladstone a ear-rub, before leaving. He made mental note to invite Mrs Hudson to the party.


	3. Three

"So..." said Greg taking a swig of his post-work pint with John, "...to conclude. A break-in is a 'five' if..."

"If what's stolen is expensive art, something small and dismissive, or if there was nothing stolen at all," nodded John. "If the victims are idiots it's a 'four', he only goes to them if he's bored." 

"But the thing in Redgrave?"

"He never goes outside London for less than a 'six', though if he is intrigued enough he can send me there with a video link. Redgrave was a 'seven' because he could get his hands on half a cow."

They were sitting in a pub not far from the crime scene. Sherlock had already gone home, murmuring about needing to buy a sunlamp for the 'garden'. 

The body had been a guard who had been called to look at the power out created by the art-thief. The thief had turned on the power again, and the guard had been electrocuted. Sherlock then figured out that the thief hadn't been after the art at all, but wanted to murder the guard who had an extramarital affair with his mother. John had been appropriately amazed. 

"But the jewellery store last week?" Greg frowned into his stout. "He said that was a 'three'. Even though the robbers were organised."

"Too organised," John smirked. "He had solved it through the news reports before we even left the flat. He only went out because you asked him to."

"Because I...?" Greg huffed. "Why?"

"He's still feeling guilty because he got you into trouble with your superiors, and having your life threatened when they accused him of being a fake."

"Aw, how sweet of him," laughed Greg. 

John smiled and looked around the pub. It was quite nice. There was a second floor that could be rented out to private functions. Maybe he should look into it for the party.

"What did you do for your forty-fifth?" he asked. 

"Forty-fifth? Well... Let's see... Four years ago..." he thought back. "I just stayed home, had dinner with my girls. They cooked and baked me a cake. Of course they made a mess of the kitchen. Why? Are you planning ahead?" 

"No," John shook his head. "Sherlock's brother's boyfriend..."

"Mycroft has a boyfriend?" interrupted Greg, looking slightly manic. 

"Not that I know." 

John had once tried to picture Mycroft with a sexual partner of any kind, and came up with nothing. The man was a sexual enigma, and John actually preferred not to think about it. 

Though it seemed that Greg had an inkling that way. After Sherlock exposed Greg's wife as a cheater, and after the divorce following, Greg has began to show some new interesting sides of his personality. 

"His younger brother," he explained.

"He has a younger brother?" Greg frowned. "There are three?"

"Four, actually. But the oldest is a woman now. She married Sherlock's ex. Didn't you know?" 

"Nobody tells me anything around here," Greg swallowed down the rest of his pint in one go, and took a breath. "Four of them. And Sherlock has an ex. Fuck."

"Let me get you a new one," said John, rising from his seat. "Doctor's orders, you might be in shock."

"Ta, mate," Greg took another deep breath and smiled weakly. 

As the bartender filled up two new pints, John made arrangements with the pub's owner to rent the second floor for the party. She was only happy to offer catering as well. He ordered for twenty, and really hoped he could find enough people to invite. So far he only had James, himself, Sherlock, Freddie, and maybe Mrs Hudson. 

"Fancy going to a birthday party for a total stranger next Friday?" he asked Greg as he placed the pint before him. "Sherlock will be there, and his younger brother, Freddie as well, if you want to meet him."

"Won't I be obtrusive?" 

"Not at all," John finished up his old pint. "You are mine and Sherlock's friend. I'm playing host to the bloody thing so I can invite who I want."

"Thanks, I'll be glad to come. So, it's this Freddie's boyfriend's birthday? His forty-fifth?"

"Yes, but they both work with the government, so don't expect too much personal stuff."

Lestrade looked like he hesitated to ask something. John thought he could guess what it was and waited. 

"Is Mycroft going to be there?"

"I haven't asked him yet," John hid a smile behind his glass.


	4. Four

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, fiddling with his violin, when John arrived home about an hour later. His bare feet were on the floor where Gladstone was enthusiastically licking his toes. The puppy greeted John with a happy miniature bulldog smile, and then returned to Sherlock's feet.

"What ever floats your boat, Gladdy," smiled John. "They are looking scrumptious."

He had had three pints and felt comfortably buzzed. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. 

"That's the first time I have heard that word describing any part of my anatomy." 

"Oh, I have a whole bag of words to use for your anatomy," John hung his jacket on a clothes peg. 

Sherlock blushed, but tried to hide it by putting his violin away. John picked up Gladstone from the floor and settled down right next to Sherlock on the sofa. The puppy got comfortable on his lap. John leaned in and kissed Sherlock, who responded with putting his arm around him.

"I suggest we sleep upstairs," said Sherlock. "It's closer to the shower now when the bathtub's occupied."

"And how long will it be occupied?"

"Until the experiment is over, of course," huffed Sherlock, and rubbed Gladstone's head. 

"Of course," sighed John. "I don't know why I asked. I found a place for the party, though."

"Let me guess, you took the first best thing you could find. Without a thought on the security."

"Security? Is that a issue?"

"You are putting paranoid government agents in a strange room together, of course it's an issue."

"Of course," John rubbed his face. "I'll go back and do a recon tomorrow. Are you sure you don't want to help me with this?"

"I'm sure," Sherlock put his other arm around John in a hug. "But I'm happy to give advice."

"For you that is helping," John leaned into the hug. "Huh, look at us. We are like a family. Though, I don't know what I've done to get such a fury son. Yes, you are."

He scratched Gladstone a little harder. The puppy rolled over, exposing his soft belly for rubbing, and began to pant loudly. John laughed. Sherlock's arms tightened for a moment, then fell away.

"I'm going to check in the plants," he said, getting up from the sofa. 

"Do you want to share a shower before bed?" John continued with the puppy belly rubs, but his eyes followed Sherlock with a hungry look. "I'm sure we can both fit, if we stand _really_ close." 

"You go on," Sherlock took to the bathroom. "I don't feel like going to bed yet."

"Neither do I," murmured John a bit disappointed. "Your daddy is brilliant, but a bit slow sometimes," he told Gladstone. 

Sherlock wasn't the kind of man who initiated sex, but he had never turned John down. John guessed he had been too subtle this time. Sherlock had problems with emotional subtleness. 

The dog answered by whimpering contently, and and then giving off a smelly fart. 

"Ugh," John coughed. "I better take you for a walk before bed."

His light alcoholic buzz cleared a bit as he went outside again. It was getting dark even though the city was still awake. He decided to walk to the corner and back. 

John stopped for a moment to let Gladstone pee on a drain. He thought back on Sherlock. The detective was acting strange, stranger than usual. Maybe it was the oncoming autumn that messed with Sherlock's sensitive mind. John shivered a little and tugged on the leash. 

As he reached the corner and turned back he saw that the lights were turned on in the window of his old room at 221b. It seemed Sherlock was getting ready for bed after all. He sighed and let his mind drift to the party again.

How would he ever be able to invite James's friends? John was only a ex-army doctor with a genius boyfriend. He would have to leave that part to Freddy. Maybe he could ask Mycroft if he knew any of James's friends, or a way to contact them. 

He was back in front of 221b. Gladstone smelled the doorstep, whimpered, and looked away. John frowned, when did Sherlock had time leave without him noticing?

His mobile dinged with a message signal, John read it as he carried Gladstone up the stairs. 

-Gone to StB lab. Sorry about the shower sex. Make it up to you tomorrow. SH-

"Your daddy _is_ mad," John kissed Gladstone on the top of his disproportionate head. "But we love him just the same, don't we?"


	5. Five

The next day John woke up with Sherlock pressed to his back, and Gladstone pressed to his belly. Sadly there was no time for cuddles with either, he had a six hour shift at the clinic waiting. 

He edged out from in-between them, and placed the puppy against Sherlock's belly instead. John gave them both a light kiss before getting ready for the day. Sherlock smiled in his sleep. 

The shift was uneventful for the first few hours, consisting mostly of colds, concerned parents of feverish children, hypochondriacs, and a strange rash that turned out to be an allergic reaction to citrus. 

The highlight, if you were allowed to call it that, came when he had to leave the clinic in a hurry to escort a patient with heart failure to the emergency room of the nearest hospital. He could take the rest of the day off after that.

Though being in a emergency room, wearing a doctor's white robe, didn't make it easy for him to leave. Within five minutes he had been yanked away twice to look over incoming patients, the stressed out nurses were not listening to his protests of 'I don't even work here'. 

But he was a doctor, and he had experience in trauma. He couldn't just leave when being confronted with injured people. He probably broke some law by staying, but he did stay. The work in the emergency room was ten times more exciting than the clinic. It was almost as thrilling as working with Sherlock. 

An hour later he was looking over a injured arm. The man belonging to the arm was a muscular man in his mid-forties, ash-blond hair, and a Russian military tattoo on his shoulder. 

"I'm Dr. Watson," John said.

"Alex," said the man with a clear English accent. "Where is your hospital ID?"

"Finally, someone asks," laughed John. "To tell you the truth, Alex, I am a doctor, don't worry, but not at this hospital. I was just accompanying someone here, then the nurses sort of kidnapped me, and now I can't get away."

"Kidnapping," smirked Alex, as John carefully pressed on his arm and the large forming bruise there. "Ugly business."

"Especially when you are forced to do free labour," John was impressed by the man's ability to withstand pain.

"You are a good man."

"Thanks. Not that I really mind being here, but my... flatmate is probably going to miss me soon."

"You should just sneak out the back, and go home."

"Didn't bring a jacket, I came here in an ambulance. Well, anyway, your arm isn't broken, though it is probably cracked. Nurse!"

A small Indian woman hurried over from the work station.

"Yes, doctor?" 

"Take him to x-ray, please," John sighed. "Good luck, Alex. I think I'm going to take your advise and make my escape now."

"Good luck, yourself."

John exited the hospital a half an hour later, with his withe coat under his arm and wearing a old anorak from the lost-and-found. He looked around for a taxi, but noticed there was a sleek black car with government-plates standing not far away. He sighed and headed for it. 

It had been a while since Mycroft had picked him up. Last time was actually three weeks ago, when Sherlock yet again had stolen Mycroft's ID to break in to a government records office. 

They had gone for tea, letting Sherlock stew in his holding cell for an hour. Sherlock had been quite angry when they bailed him out. It had taken John all night to make Sherlock to smile again, but what a night. 

"I was going to call him, you know," said John to the woman in the backseat as he sat down next to her. "But since you are here, would you mind helping me with a security check of a pub?"

"Excuse me?" she asked. 

John looked at her for a moment. Her skintone was 'coffee with a dash of cream', shoulder length curly black hair, very pretty, and with a big gun pointing at his chest.

"You are not Anthea," he said slowly.

"And you are not my boyfriend," she said back with half a smile. 

"Wrong car?" he asked with a sigh. 

"Defiantly," she didn't lower the gun, but seemed to relax a little.

"Ma'am?" asked the driver, who only John noticed just now also held a gun on him.

"I don't know," said the woman.

"Look," John held up his hands to show the were empty. "I made a mistake. Your car simply looked like a car a friend often un-expectantly usually picks me up in..." 

He was interrupted by the door opening up and a man getting inside, forcing John to move closer to the woman, and then being trapped between them with the gun pressed to his belly. 

The new arrival was the same man John had examined before, Alex. His right arm was heavily wrapped in gauze. Alex took in the sight of John, the woman, and the guns, as if this was a thing happening everyday. 

"What's up, doc?" he asked. "Didn't get very far did you?"

"I got in the wrong car," said John, licked his lips. "I'm sorry. Can I go now?"

The woman lowered her gun and gave a nod to the driver, who also put away his. 

"Sure," she said. "If you tell me how you know Anthea, and why you want her to do a security check on a pub."


	6. Six

"Where have you been?" 

Sherlock looked a mess in his pyjama and ruffled hair. He had been pacing the room with Gladstone under one arm, and a tight grip on a mobile, when John entered. Sherlock embraced John in a possessive hug. Gladstone was yapping in happiness as he was squeezed between them, licking whatever skin he could reach.

"It's been five hours and nine minutes since you were supposed to be home." Sherlock breathed warmth into John's neck. "Why did you leave the clinic without your phone?"

"I didn't..." John swallowed, he hadn't even realised that he had left his phone behind. "I'm sorry. There was an emergency... And then I met some people..."

"Who did you meet?" Sherlock fixed him with a glare. "Where were you?"

"A very nice couple, actually, Eve and Alex." John was a little shocked over the intensity of the questioning, he already had enough of that for one evening. 

"Who are they?"

"They are friends with James. We met by accident. A bit awkward actually..."

Sherlock gave an impatient huffing sound.

"We got to talking, okay? Time just flew by."

John didn't mention that the 'talking' involved him being blindfolded, taken to a secure location under ground, and being put through a thorough security check until both Freddie and Mycroft arrived to save him. He didn't want to upset Sherlock anymore.

"Well, next time time flies, call me," Sherlock pouted. "I don't like not knowing where you are. Makes me feel itchy all over..." he looked away. 

"It does?" John smiled as something pulled at his heart. 

"Gladstone missed you," said Sherlock suddenly holding up the dog directly in front of John's face, as if Sherlock was a small child and the animal some bizarre puppet. 

The dog didn't mind and tried to lick John's face. 

"Of course he did," John laughed and shook the big-headed puppy's paw. "Did you miss Daddy?"

John took Gladstone and put him on the floor. The animal scampered away to his water bowl. Sherlock shifted, not looking at John.

"Did Daddy miss Daddy?" John leered. 

"We can't both be 'Daddy'," Sherlock huffed. "And only a little..."

"Wait, is that my phone?" John took the phone from Sherlock's hand. "Did you go to the clinic to look for me?"

"Perhaps."

Sherlock shrugged, and moved quickly to the kitchen where he sat down to stare into his microscope. After a moment he turned it on. After another moment he put a sample-glass under it. Then he exchanged the glass for another that actually had a sample on it. John took pity on him. 

"Tea?"

"Hm."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," said John filling the kettle with one hand while looking through his mobile with the other. "Did you erase my missed-calls-list?"

"It was nothing of importance there," Sherlock continued his façade with the microscope. "Harry called once."

"How many times did you call?"

"A couple."

John smirked and placed their two favourite cups on the counter, then placing a tea bag in each. He waited for the water.

"It's okay to say that you were worried, you know," he said. "It's even okay to be angry over that I forgot to call you. I wouldn't judge you for it."

"I'm fine," Sherlock fidgeted with the dial in the microscope. 

"You said you felt itchy."

John placed Sherlock's steaming cup by his elbow.

"Maybe you need a shower," said John. 

Sherlock looked up at him through his lashes, a tint of pleasurable red was speeding across his prominent cheekbones.

"You were worried," John's voice was stern but his fingers were caressing as they combed through Sherlock's hair. 

"A little, maybe..." Sherlock leaned into the touch. 

"You are a detective, love. You find people for a living."

"The trail ended after your little pro bono session at the emergency room," he sighed, putting his forehead against John chest and taking a deep breath. "I called Mycroft."

"You did?" 

John put his arms around Sherlock, now coming to terms how worried the man must have been. Mycroft hadn't mentioned that Sherlock had called him. He had just given the interrogators a copy of his own file on John. Freddie had had to sign a waiver to take full responsibility over John. Both the brothers had thought it hilarious. John just felt embarrassed. 

"Mycroft said that he was helping you check out the security on the pub for James's party. But I knew he was lying. Just as I know you are not telling me the whole truth."

"Fine," John laughed. "I was interrogated by the MI6 and then your brothers had to save me. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," murmured Sherlock sarcastically into John's sweater. 

"At least I got two more people on the guest list. Maybe three, Mycroft said he'd check his calendar."

Sherlock huffed again. John smiled at the warm breath coming through the fabric of his clothes.

"Why don't we let Gladstone spend the night at Mrs. Hudson's? We can have that shower, and then sleep late?"

Sherlock agreed with a nod, but didn't move away from John for at least a minute.


	7. Seven

Next day it was raining, not the ordinary drizzling London rain, but more of a skyfall. It was the kind of weather only fools, and dog owners ventured out in. 

John thought about leaving Gladstone's walk to Mrs. Hudson, and about staying in the warm bed with Sherlock, but that would be cruel to the elderly woman. He got up with a sigh. 

"I'm coming with you," said Sherlock, reading John's mind, not a hint of sleep in his voice.

"There is no need for both of us to get drenched," John pulled on his pants, looking around for his jeans. 

"I don't mind. I could use a walk."

"We are not taking a walk in this weather. We are just taking Gladstone to potty and then we are going straight back."

"I'm going for a walk," Sherlock buttoned up his shirt. "I'll take some liquids with me and we can se how fast they wash away."

 _Fools, dog owners, and foolish dog owners,_ thought John.

"Fine, but you are bringing an umbrella and you are not using your nice shoes... Oh my god, you have that look again."

"What look?" Sherlock frowned. "It seems to constantly slip your mind, my dear Watson, that I don't have the same advantage point of my face as you do."

"You had that 'I'm dating my mother'-look from before. Am I really that bad?"

"Do you think my mother is bad?" Sherlock gave him a surprised look. "I thought you liked her."

"I do like her, very much," John pulled in the last of his clothes. "Though not as much as for you to date her."

"I don't know what kind of Oediputic trauma you are projecting, but..."

"God, don't go there," John put his hands over his ears and hurried to the bathroom. 

He got down to the downstairs hallway about five minutes later. Sherlock was waiting for him with large wellingtons on his feet and one of Mycroft's old umbrellas on his arm. He had a small bag over his shoulder, probably for his experiments with the rain. Gladstone ran to meet John with a round of happy grunting noises. 

John opened the door and looked out on the soaked Baker Street. The rain was pouring down. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "I don't even think Gladstone wants to anymore. The puddles are awfully big."

"Let's carry him to the park," Sherlock pushed the umbrella outside and opened it up. "Come on."

John sighed, picked up Gladstone and got in under the umbrella. The rain was beating down on the fabric like tiny angry fists. 

" _I_ really don't like this!" called John over the loud noise.

They were both grown men and the umbrella was only so big. Sherlock was bit taller than him so John was less protected from the storm. Gladstone whined pitifully against his chest.

"I think this is one of your worst ideas ever!" he almost had to scream to be heard.

"You didn't complain last night!" called Sherlock back, holding a measuring glass that he seemingly brought from nowhere out in the rain. 

"Last night we were naked, inside, under a shower, now we are clothed, outside, in the rain! There is a big difference!"

"This was your idea!" Sherlock looked at the measuring cup, checking the water level.

"My idea was to go out for maybe one minute at let the dog pee!"

"This is more interesting!" 

John just huffed, he was getting tired of shouting. They had reached the park gates. John put Gladstone down on the wet grass, the puppy looked suspicious. 

"Take this," Sherlock handed John the umbrella. 

He then pulled up a small folded, plaid, umbrella from his shoulder bag, and ran out in the rain with it. 

"Sherlock!" John called, though he knew it was pointless. "That will never hold in this weather!"

Gladstone whined and scratched his foot, begging to be lifted up. John obliged the poor puppy. He had a quick thought about just turning back home, but then Sherlock wouldn't have someone to tell him that enough was enough. 

There was the blaring of a car horn from the road. John looked to see a black stretched town car there. First he thought of Mycroft, but the car was a little too noticeable for that. He walked closer.

The door back door opened and Jennie Holmes came into view, she smiled and waived John inside. He didn't argue.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, but was interrupted by Gladstone shaking himself. "Sorry."

"It's alright," laughed Jennie padding her grey power suit with a handkerchief. "If couldn't stand some wetness I wouldn't have offered you to come inside."

"Of course," John nodded at the Holmesian logic. 

"I just attended a breakfast meeting close by, and I saw that you were out. Couldn't let you drown."

"Thank you. How did you see we were out?"

"Actually," she shifted a little and looked apologising. "Mycroft had Sherlock tagged."

"What?"

"He tagged him," she looked out the window at the showdown of her brother hunched in the rain. "Sherlock doesn't know it, but when he came back, and was unconscious at the hospital, Mycroft let a small transmitter be placed in his hip. Frederick made it." 

"I see," John followed her gaze, feeling his heart tug. "That explains a lot actually."

"Would you mind not telling him? We wouldn't want him to try to cut it out."

"Your secret safe with me. It actually makes me feel a bit better to know he can't get lost, again."

They leaned back in their seats. Jennie took Gladstone in her lap. It was clear that she didn't mind the wet fur. John deducted that she hadn't any place to go directly after this.

"I heard you are organising James a party."

"Fishing for an invitation?" smiled John. "You are welcome, of course."

"Thank you. Frederick has already invited me, he was going to call you about it. Victor and I will be happy to attend."

"Nice," John looked back out on Sherlock, what ever crazy thing he was doing. "He's going to get himself a cold. I thought he didn't like autumn."

"That's because it reminds him of going back to school. He never liked that. They teased him quite a bit...."

The sat quiet for a while, listening to the rain. Jennie patted Gladstone over the head. The dog looking out the window as if trying to see Sherlock. 

"Go get him," she said with a sigh. "I'll buy you some breakfast from that place downstairs from yours. I can see you haven't eaten yet."

John nodded, and breached the rain again with Mycroft's sturdy umbrella. The downpour hadn't let up at all. He hurried over to were Sherlock was pouring some red liquid on the ground. The plaid umbrella was more or less in tatters and Sherlock was soaked. 

"Is that blood?" John asked over the noise of the rain.

"What else would it be?" Sherlock huffed. "Raspberry jam?"

"I know some people that would say you were disposing of evidence."

"Some people are idiots. Is that Jennie in the car?"

"She wants to buy us breakfast."

"How did she find us?"

"Mycroft told her."

"Typical."


	8. Eight

Sherlock took a hot shower when they returned to 221b. John thought of joining him, but since Jennie was getting their food, he only changed his damp clothes. Gladstone snuggled down on the sofa and didn't look like he was planning to leave it anytime soon.

John put the kettle on just as Jennie came through the door with a plastic bag in her hand and Mycroft at her back. 

"Look what I found," she said with a laugh. "It's really my day to pick up lost souls in the rain."

"I wasn't lost in the slightest," Mycroft placed his wet umbrella in the stand, recognising the one already there a short sigh. "I was merely going to give John his clearance." 

"My clearance for what?" John was taking out four cups from the cupboard. 

"Your clearance, that even though you attempted hijack the head of MI6's car, you are not a threat to the nation. You have to come by my office to sign some papers though, since I had to speed up the process."

"John," tutted Jennie unpacking some sandwiches and pastries to the sofa table. "And here I thought were a good boy."

"I did no such thing. I thought it was Mycroft's car." 

"You should really try to be more cautious, John," Mycroft sat down next to Gladstone in the sofa. "You shouldn't follow things blindly even if they are a habit."

"It scares me that it is a habit for me to get inside black government cars."

"Me too, actually," mused Mycroft. 

At that moment Sherlock entered the room, dripping wet. He was wearing only a green towel around his hips. He gave Mycroft one look, rolled his eyes and headed for his bedroom. 

"Sherlock!" called John after him. "You are getting the floor all wet!"

"What is wrong with your downstairs bathroom?" asked Mycroft. "Do you want me to find you a plumber?"

"He is using it as a greenhouse," sighed John and took one of the sandwiches. "And I really don't understand how you have time to do your job when you are looking over Sherlock all the time."

"I'm allowed to have hobbies." Mycroft gave him a resentful look. 

Jennie gave a laugh that sounded rougher than it probably meant to sound. She cleared her throat and took a ladylike sip of tea, then sat down on Sherlock's black leather chair, elegantly crossing her legs. 

"And anyway," Mycroft picked som invisible lint from his trousers. "You have kindly taken over some of my former tasks in the matter."

Sherlock entered the room wearing his nice suit over his purple shirt. Usually he wold put on his pyjama after a shower, but John knew that Sherlock hated to be outdone by his siblings. John tried not to feel embarrassed over his jeans and jumper.

He handed Sherlock a cup of tea. Sherlock sat down in John's chair. John placed himself next to Mycroft on the sofa. The silence was killing him but it didn't seem to bother the three others. 

"So," he said after finishing his sandwich. "We are now eleven for the party, which is nice."

"You should invite mother as well," said Sherlock, eying the pasties on the table. "She is very fond of James, and it will give Mrs. Hudson someone in her own age to talk to."

"Have a pasty, Sherlock," said Jennie. "You are thinner than I thought you were."

"If I create a habit of bulking now, it will be hard to break when I reach a proper weight. Isn't that right, Mycroft?"

"So," Mycroft turned to John in fake interest. "Who have you invited?" 

"Eh," John put down his cup that he was busy emptying. "James's friends, from the car. And Greg Lestrade..."

"Lestrade?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"He is mine and Sherlock's friend," John ignored Sherlock's strained face. "He is a nice guy, and I think James would like him too. Besides..." he smirked a little, "... I think he's a bit lonely, after the divorce, and his daughters going away to uni."

"I think I'm going to check on your garden," Mycroft got up from the sofa and headed for the bathroom. 

"Don't you touch it!" Sherlock screamed.

He scrambled to follow, leaving John alone with Jennie, and a snoring Gladstone. Jennie smiled, and bit into a pasty. John followed her example. 

"I was going to ask you..." said Jennie when raised angry voices began coming from the bathroom. "That is, Victor and I are starting up a small charity to sponsor LBTGA-organisations. Honestly, it's mainly a tax thing, but we thought we could do some good as well. Anyway, we would love to have someone with a medical degree on the board."

"I don't know..." John looked to the bathroom with the yelling brothers. "It's not like I'm ashamed of being with Sherlock, but I'm not ready to attract more attention than necessary."

"I understand,"Jennie nodded. "Several of my clients feel he same way. So this is quite low key."

"I'll ask Sherlock what he thinks."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

Suddenly the yelling stopped. A short moment later Mycroft was rushing out of the bathroom and then leaving the flat. His face was red with anger, his hands were dirty with soil, and he left his umbrella behind. 

Gladstone gave a irritated huff.

"Sherlock?" called John. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Sherlock came out from the bathroom, hugging a small unearthed plant to his chest. "He got a message on his phone and just left... Turn on the TV."

John pressed the remote and flipped through a few channels until he came to a news report.

"...fire is under control. The armoured tank then continued it's pursuit of the vehicle down the streets of Budapest, destroying several parked cars along the way. Thankfully no persons are reported to be injured..."

There was reporter standing in front of a flattened car, then the image shifted to a helicopter view of a tank shooting a car to smitheries, then falling over the edge of the Pest-river and into the water. The camera zoomed into a blurry man exiting the tank and jumping into the water.

"...It's unknown who this man is, but the bodies in the car had been identified as belonging to persons wanted by both Interpol and NATO..."

"Huh," said Sherlock with a raised eyebrow. "It seems our friend Bond gets around a bit."

"Are you saying that guy was James?" John stared at the blurry image on the screen that the next moment changed back to the reporter interviewing witnesses. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and returned to the bathroom with his darling plant. 

Jennie and John exchanged a shrug, and continued to watch the report.

"Puts us chasing around London in a bit of perspective, I guess" mused John, thinking that he might have a nice and quiet life after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jennie's charity organisation will be getting more attention in the third part of this series.


	9. Nine

Jennie left shortly after that, she had business to attend to. John still didn't really know what she did for a living, something with accountancy and banking. For all he knew about the Holmes family, she could be the Bank of England.

He placed the left over sandwich and two pasties on the kitchen table next to the microscope. It would be the most likely place Sherlock would sit down later on. 

The rain outside had slowed down to a drizzle. John sat down in his chair with a medical journal. He could hear Sherlock muttering in the bathroom, and he smiled. It was not the cosy morning in bed he had imagined, but it was nice none the less. 

By the time for Gladstone's mid-day walk, Sherlock had moved to the microscope, dissecting a leaf. He had eaten both the pasties and the spread of the sandwich, leaving the buttered bread to the dog. 

"We are giving him too much human food," said John, attaching the leash to Gladstone's collar.

"Dog food was invented because most humans don't want to share their food," Sherlock didn't even look up. "I want to share mine."

"I'm talking about nutrition..." John sighed, knowing he was talking to a wall. "Fine, I'll get him some pet-vitamins or something at the pharmacy."

"There are pet-vitamins?" Sherlock's interest was piqued, and he tore himself away from his study.

"I'll get you a set as well to do experiments on," John lifted Gladstone of the floor. "See you in a bit, love."

John took the latest acquired umbrella from the stand and headed out. This time he was able to hear himself think over the smattering of the raindrops on the fabric. 

At the end of the street there was a black car. John hesitated. After a few seconds the backdoor opened and Anthea leaned out.

"It's fine, Doctor," she said. "It's me."

"Just making sure."

Gladstone had already jumped inside, begging to be scratched behind the ears by Anthea. She gave the dog a pat on the head, and then retuned to her phone. John followed inside the car at a more slow pace. He placed the wet umbrella on the floor by his feet. 

"Mycroft said I could sign those papers in my own time." 

"Mr Holmes impression of your time is not mine. And it is me that's doing the actual paperwork, so I rather you signed it in my time." 

"Is it hard work showing I'm not a threat to the nation?" asked John.

"Not as hard as the time Sherlock broke into the royal stables to take dirt samples from all the horses' hooves," she sighed, typing messages with her thumbs. 

John smiled. It was the longest sentence she had ever spoken to him. She couldn't have an easy job. 

"Would you like to come to James's party as well?" John said carefully. 

She sat quiet for a moment, contemplating her phone. John wasn't sure she even heard him. Gladstone jumped to his lap and cuddled against him. John patted the dog's back, and looked out the window at the wet city passing by. 

"Can I bring a date?" Anthea asked eventually. 

"Sure," John blinked in surprise. "Actually that would help since I ordered food for twenty and we are only twelve so far." 

"Thank you."

There was a tone in her voice that almost sounded nervous. John wondered what kind of date she'd bring. 

Just by looking at her it was impossible to determine if she fancied men or women. Statistically it would be men. But then again, look at John, he had only been into women up until he met Sherlock. 

John looked out the window again, and noticed that they weren't at all on their way to Whitehall where Mycroft had his office. Instead the car stopped outside the Hungarian embassy. 

John thought of the the news report from Budapest that morning, and Sherlock saying it was James jumping into the river. 

"There are no papers are there?" he asked.

"There are," Anthea smiled. "Just not here. Go on. Mr Holmes is waiting for you. Bring the umbrella. I'll keep an eye on your dog."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The choice of Hungary was completely random. I just like the sound of the name Budapest. I have never been there. If anything seems offensive, it is purely done by ignorance.


	10. Ten

John was ushered to an office by a grumpy Eastern-European woman, clearly ex-military by the way she moved. John was proud to think that he would have known that even without Sherlock's influence on him. Though in this case it was pretty self-explanatory how he knew. 

The room was decorated with Hungarian flags and pictures of old dignitaries. Mycroft was waiting in the middle of the room, he didn't look happy. 

"Ah!" he said. "There you are."

"What's going on?" asked John and handed the man the umbrella. "I guess it has to do with the thing on the news earlier."

"Quite," Mycroft looked over the umbrella, like he was searching for any damage. 

Another man entered the office from a side door. He was thin, in his fifties, grey hair, and a nice suit. The man smiled as he saw John.

"Doctor John Watson," said Mycroft. "Peitri Sanoslav, the Hungarian Ambassador to Britain."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Watson," said the ambassador with only a slight accent.

"Hello," John shook the offered hand, fighting the urge to say 'sir'. 

"The Hungarian government has been kind enough to bring _our man_ here," told Mycroft. "Though they have some demands before they let him go."

"Only small," Ambassador Sanoslav grinned.

"I see," John gathered that it was preferable not to mention James by name. "What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to give him a medical once over. It will help our negotiations if I know his status."

"Why me?"

"Let's just say that the Ambassador and I have a difference of opinion when it comes to doctors. And also, he likes your _blog_."

Mycroft spoke as the last word was an personal insult. John felt a little dazzled, as he always did when he found out that someone was actually reading what he wrote. 

"It's very interesting," nodded Stanoslav. "That Sherlock, quite the character, eh?"

"Yes," Mycroft smiled politely. "Now, can we get down to business?"

John was shown into another room. This one was for medical examination. James was relaxing on a gurney with his legs crossed and hands on his stomach. He was wearing a perfectly tailored grey suit. A bored uniformed guard was standing by the door. 

"John?" James sat up. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm wondering the same thing," he shook his head. "But apparently I'm going to give you a checkup to speed up some kind of negotiations."

"Why you?" James sounded suspicious but began to unbutton his shirt. 

"The Ambassador likes my blog," John shrugged and took a stethoscope from a nearby table. 

James took off his jacket and held open his shirt over his heart. There was some heavy scar tissue there. John winced slightly.

"It looks worse than it was," assured James.

"I can see that," John placed the stereoscope on the skin. "But the little things usually hurt more than the big ones. Deep breath please."

"Speaking from personal experience?" James took a couple of deep breaths. 

"I think you know I do."

They were silent as John continued to examine James through his clothes. The agent seemed to have a very high threshold for pain, but there was a small wince as John examined his left knee.

"How's... Freddie?" asked James, probably to hide his slip.

"Last time I saw him, he was in good spirits," John thought back on when Freddie had to sign the waiver for John. "He invited me and Sherlock to the pub on Friday."

John thought he was very clever in saying this. 

"Friday, you say..." said James thoughtfully. 

"You seen to be well in order," said John stepping back. "Though you ought to let someone do a more thorough examination."

"I don't like being thoroughly examined," James buttoned his shirt. "It only results in forced vacations."

"Call me, and we'll do it privately," John patted his back. "I hate to see Freddie push you around in a wheelchair."

"A private session?" winked James. "Sounds naughty."

"There's nothing wrong with you that wasn't already wrong to start with," laughed John. "I'll tell them you are fine."

"Thank you, John," James buttoned up his shirt. "And I'm looking forward to that drink on Friday." 

"Call me," John gave him the stern look of a captain, even though he knew that James as a naval commander outranked him. 

He was then shown back to the ambassador's office.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the good response so far :) I'm aware that I put too much trust on the auto-spell. Sorry about that. I will go through the text before I publish the last chapter. I think there are about three more after this.

John was delivered back to 221b about thirty minutes later. He had messaged Sherlock telling him not to worry, the detective's lack of response showed that he probably had been. 

He also sent a quick message to Freddie that James was fine. He was pretty sure Freddie knew already, but John felt better doing so. 

Anthea had bought a new collar to Gladstone, in black leather and rhinestones. She had also bought him a squeaky rubber-chicken. John liked the first, but was hesitant about the latter. He only kept it because he knew Sherlock would loose his patience first with the noise. 

He walked up the stairs, carrying Gladstone under his arm, and the chicken in his hand. Sherlock was in the kitchen, still looking at his mysterious leaves. He was startled at the first squeak from the toy.

"What is that?"

"A present, from Anthea."

They watched Gladstone for a moment as he tried to alternatively kill the rubber-toy and happily drag it around the floor. 

"It's surprisingly anatomically correct," noted Sherlock and then turned his clever eyes to John. 

"What?" asked John, preparing for the flow of deductions.

"Mycroft has asked you to do a menial task for him, probably something medical. You haven't washed, and there are no bloodstains, so it wasn't serious. It has probably something to do with..." Sherlock looked him over again, "...James."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't. But you just confirmed it. You examined him then. How is he?"

"His knees are unstable," John sighed and put on the kettle. "I'm no orthopedist, but he can be looking at surgery in the near future."

"That would take him from active duty," Sherlock was hovering over Gladstone and the toy. 

"Only for about six to eight months," John placed two cups on the counter because he knew Sherlock wouldn't had had tea yet. "If he does his rehab correctly."

"He's forty-five," Sherlock tried to pull he chicken away from Gladstone but the puppy only pulled back with a low growl. "That's close to retirement in his line of work."

"I guess," John poured the tea. "But it's better to go out by surgery, than a bullet."

He shifted his right shoulder, where he had his own bullet-wound. He knew what he was talking about, since he had lived it. Though in his case there hadn't been an option.

"He won't let go," huffed Sherlock lifting up the chicken with the dog still attached to it. "John, tell him!"

"Sherlock, he thinks you're playing tug with him." John sat down on the sofa.

"It's rather amusing," Sherlock dangled the growling dog over the floor. "He's tenacious." 

"He gets that from your side of the family," chuckled John. 

Sherlock suddenly looked thoughtful. He put down Gladstone with appendage on the floor. The dog barked in victory, and dragged his spoils to the kitchen. 

Sherlock sat down next to John. 

"What?" John tensed, wondering if this was the moment that Sherlock had settled enough to talk about emotional things. 

Then his mobile rang. John swore.

"Ignore it," he said. "Tell me what you wanted to say."

"You better answer," Sherlock got up from the sofa to reach the phone. "It's your sister."

He threw the small device to John, and then skulked away to the bathroom. John swore again, glaring at the photograph of his smiling sister on the phone-display. 

"Hello," he grunted into the microphone.

"Don't bite my head off, baby brother," Harry chuckled. "It's you that ignored me for the last few days."

"I'm sorry," John rubbed his forehead. "I was just talking to Sherlock..."

"I can see why you are upset," she said. "Anyway, to turn the subject over to me, Pamela and I are going to Hawaii for two weeks!"

"Really?"

"Really!" she sounded very excited, understandably. "So you'll be taking care of the dogs. I'll drop them off on Friday."

"What! Wait! No!" John panicked. 

Harry's girlfriend Pamela was the owner of Gladstone's mother and two sisters. The thought of having four dogs in the same small flat as Sherlock was a bit frightening. 

"You are a darling, baby brother."

"You don't understand..." John looked around, noticing Sherlock peek out from behind the bathroom door. "I'm holding a party on Friday."

"If you insist," sighed Harry. "The plane doesn't leave until Sunday, but we thought we have the Saturday packing..."

"Harry..."

"It's alright, we'll come to your party. Send me a mail with the details. And we'll bring the dogs too. Tata, darling!"

John starred at his phone as it beeped three times and went silent. 

"More guests then," said Sherlock, it wasn't a question. 

"Yes..." John thought it better not to mention the dogs for now.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter, but it's only preparing for the next one.

John wrote down the names of the guests in a sheet of paper. Mrs. Hudson and Clotilde Holmes had accepted their invitations as well. That brought the total up to sixteen, and four dogs. Though the animals would be better to spend the evening at 221b. 

He put the paper on the table after gazing at it for a moment. It was bedtime and Sherlock had fallen asleep on the sofa. John decided not to wake him up, the man needed his sleep. 

What he really wanted to do was wake Sherlock up and demand that he would tell what he tried to tell him before. There was something bothering Sherlock, at it bothered John not knowing what it was. 

Instead he just put a blanket over Sherlock and carried Gladstone up the stairs to the bedroom. The dog was still holding on to the rubber chicken, but John had managed to destroy the squeaking air hole with a knife. 

He put Gladstone and his strange friend on the foot of the bed, on Sherlock's side, before going through his night routine. He got as far as brushing his teeth when he heard Sherlock move about downstairs.

"John!" a voice, far too happy sounding, called out. "There has been a murder! Lestrade is waiting! Hurry up!" 

John growled, but did as he was asked, and hurried up. It was too late in the evening to ask Mrs. Hudson to look after Gladstone, so John just closed the door to the bedroom and hoped that they wouldn't be gone for too long.

"Good boy," he said. "Stay here."

Sherlock was already waiting in a cab outside. How he even had gotten hold of one at this time was incredible. He gave John a look for being too slow.

"Sorry," said John. 

"The dog will be fine," said Sherlock as the cab started moving.

"I know he will."

"He is a dog."

"I know he is," John frowned since Sherlock hated to state the obvious. 

"Not a baby."

"Yes..?" John was beginning to feel concerned. "I know that too. What are you getting at, Sherlock?"

"Nothing."

"You never getting at nothing. You are incapable of doing so."

"Not now," hissed Sherlock in irritation. "There is a case."

"Well, as soon as this case is over, you and me are going to have a serious chat."

The ride took about fifteen minutes since the streets were pretty clear. Sherlock was in his _thinking-mode_ so John concentrated on the houses passing by on the other side of the window. They arrived to a four-story apartment building surrounded by police cars. 

Greg was waiting for them by the front door. 

"The body was blocking the door," he said in a way of greeting. "The woman who discovered him accidentally moved him when she tried to open it. And yes, it was accidentally."

He held the door open halfway, a very still hand was visible inside. A blue-clad forensics team was also there. 

"Do you want to go in this way or the backdoor?"asked Greg.

"Did you have to force open the backdoor?"

"Yes, it was locked."

"I'll go in here." Sherlock carefully moved through the narrow opening. "You take John around."

"Fine," Greg sighed. "This way, John."

They had to round half the block before they could get to a small alley that brought them to the back of the houses. 

"How are you then?" asked John. 

"Getting by," shrugged the DI. "The Super is retiring, so that is good."

"Are you applying?"

"What?" laughed Greg and gestured to a backdoor guarded by two policemen. "And miss out on all this glamour?"

One of the policemen opened the door to them. They entered a corridor with about six doors. At the other end stood Sherlock.

"About time," he glared. "Come on, John. I need a medical opinion that isn't by an idiot."

"Happy to qualify," said John and exchanged a smile with Greg.


	13. Thirteen

The case dragged on. About seven thirty in the morning John called Mrs Hudson to ask her to let Gladstone out. He felt a little bad asking her because of the stairs and her hip, but he would make it up for her by helping to prescribe some more of her 'evening soothers'.

Sherlock was walking impatiently back and forwards in front of him. The detective had been brutally thrown out from the post-mortem about twenty minutes earlier. They were now in the coroner's break room, waiting. 

Greg was asleep on an old sofa in the corner, using his coat as a cover. John envied the DI that he had gotten to the sofa first. The chair he himself was on was soft, but not enough for sleeping.

And then there was Sherlock's pacing. It was staring to get irritating. He suppressed another yawn.

"It won't go any faster, you know," said John.

"It would if that clot would let me help!"

"Sherlock, you don't help, you take over."

Sherlock gave him a glare and sat down on the edge of the sofa by Greg's feet. John rubbed his face and wondered if he was desperate to try the tea in the vending machine. 

"There's better tea in that cupboard," said Sherlock pointing. "And a electrical kettle as well."

"Oh, I knew there was a reason why I love you," John didn't even bother to ask if Sherlock was deducting or knowing, there was tea.

He busied himself filling the kettle and plugging it in. The tea bags were of quality Earl Gray. He placed three cups on the counter with a bag in each one, Greg would surely want a cup as well. 

"Do you really?" asked Sherlock in a low voice.

"Huh, what was that? You know my brain is opposite from yours, it actually slows down when deprived of sleep."

Sherlock looked like he was suffering for a moment but then turned his eyes to his hands. After a few minutes of silence the water began to boil.

"John..."

"Do you want to talk now?" John frowned at him but looked away when the kettle clicked itself off. "Good timing. Out with it."

"You constantly compare Gladstone to a baby," said Sherlock slowly.

"That's because he is a baby, Sherlock. He is just a puppy," he poured water into the cups.

"That's just it!" cried Sherlock getting to his feet. "He is a puppy, a dog, an animal! He can't be your baby!"

"I don't think he is _my_ baby," John took a breath gathering his strength. "It's a nickname."

"You are still going to call him 'your baby' even when he is grown up, I know you are. In fifteen years he will be dead. You are setting yourself up for the death of a child."

Sherlock was breathing hard, nearing panic. John stepped away from the tea and walked over to him. He gently placed a hand in his friend's cheek.

"Are you worried that I'm getting too attached? That I will be too sad when he dies?" 

_That it will remind me of when I thought you were dead?_

"You do things like that..." Sherlock tried to look away like he had read John's thoughts, but John forced him to meet his eyes.

"I can't detach myself, love. It wouldn't be fair to him or me. He is a living creature and needs me to take care of him." he smiled. "Just like you."

Sherlock let John kiss him, but he still didn't look convinced.

"You said that we were a family," he breathed. 

"We are."

"How do you know? You never been with a man before me. I've only been with Victor, and I pushed him away just by being myself... I'm not even that fond of sex..." Sherlock closed his eyes. "Is you taking care of me stopping you from meeting a woman? From getting real children?"

"Is this what you have been worrying about?" John couldn't help but to feel a bit sad, and touched. "Love, look at me."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked hopefully into John's.

"You are something no one else will ever be to me. You are my companion and I love you. I don't need anything else. Gladstone is not our child, or _a_ child, but he is still worthy of both of us. And when he passes, hopefully many years from now, we will mourn him like a friend. Do you understand?"

"Yes, John," Sherlock nodded with a small smile. 

"Good," John kissed him again. "And about the sex..."

"I'm learning to like it more."

"I have noticed..." John toyed with one of Sherlock's shirt buttons. 

"Alright!" called Greg and turned to look up at them from the sofa. "I could stand listening to your little crisis, but this is were I draw the line."

"Spoilsport," grinned John. 

He returned to the tea which had soaked too long, but it was still better than from the vending machine. 

Sherlock went back to pacing and muttering at slow pathologists.


	14. Fourteen

"He tried to commit suicide by swallowing all his medications at one time. He then changed his mind, vomited, and hurried to get to the hospital. He died just before getting to the front door. Too much strain on his heart, most likely, as John said..." Sherlock was speaking at top speed. 

They had left the morgue about half passed ten. The post-mortem had reviled that the victim had heart-condition and the beginnings stomach cancer. There was also traces of several medicinal chemicals and stomach acids along his gullet.

Sherlock had already told John and Greg all this almost two hours before the the pathologist came out with the report. 

"Sad story, and not worthy of the precious time we had to spend waiting for the idiot. From now on," declared Sherlock to John and Greg. "I'm only working with Molly!" 

"No, you won't," said both other men at the same time. 

Sherlock gave them both vicious glares and then abruptly left the room with a irritated huff, muttering under his breath.

"Though," said Greg and stretched his back. "I agree with him, this was a bit of a anticlimax. The doc really should have found it sooner."

"I just want to go home," yawned John and looked at his phone, the sound was turned off. "Oh, fuck. I'm supposed to do a shift at the clinic now. They called me five times."

"Good luck with that, mate," Greg patted his shoulder. "I'm off to my very empty house for a few hours. The report for this can wait."

"See you tomorrow evening," reminded John, looking through his text messages.

"A birthday party with secret government officials," chuckled Greg. "I'm really moving up in the world."

They said goodbye, and John went to search for Sherlock. He had gotten three text from the clinic wondering where he was, one from Harry reminding him to buy a special brand of dog food, and one from Freddie telling that he had invited a friend from work to the party. 

John called the clinic to apologise. They were not happy. John felt his job hanging on a thin thread, well, a even thinner thread than before.

He found Sherlock in the mortuary, were else? To his surprise, Molly was there as well. Four male AT-doctors dressed in green was also there. The six of them where looking at the body of a drowned woman in her fifties. 

"John!" Molly smiled when he entered. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," John walked up to them, feeling disgusted at the smell of the body. And you?"

"On a field trip," she laughed nervously. "With my students. I have students now."

John looked at the students, they all looked slightly nauseated, but trying to keep a good face. Two of them were glancing at Sherlock. 

"Good for you," said John.

Sherlock poked at the body on the slab, he took a breath.

"In water for approximate three hours, pool water, not river. Out of water approximate two hours. Hit her head on the edge, though not cause of death..." 

Sherlock leaned in close and smelled the hair, and then the lips. The students looked even more uncomfortable. Molly and John just exchanged a roll of eyes.

"She removed her wedding ring..." 

Sherlock looked almost giddy, John knew the look. He sighed. 

"I can see you want to stay for this," he shook his head. "But I'm really too knackered for it, and there is the party tomorrow. I'm going home."

"You are not letting that clot autopsy this are you?" Sherlock pushed one of the students aside and walked over to the body's feet. 

John sighed again. He looked to Molly. 

"I'll get him home," she nodded. 

"Thank you," he was about to leave but hesitated. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

"Do you want me to dog-sit?" 

"I was thinking of inviting you actually."

"Yeah?" she suddenly looked very pretty as she smiled. 

"I'll send you a text about it."

She painted her toenails yesterday..." murmured Sherlock.

"I'm not even going to ask how he knows that," John gave Molly a smile, and said goodbye. 

He was getting out of a cab in Baker Street when he got a text from Sherlock wondering were he had got to. John just smiled and messaged back a picture of their door. 

Gladstone was on the floor by the bottom of the stairs waiting for him. The puppy was so happy that he fell over several times. 

"Hi, baby," laughed John and rubbed the dog's belly. "I can call you 'baby', can't I? Yes, I can."

He took the ecstatic Gladstone under his arm and carried the puppy up to his room. It was finally time to sleep.


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the laps in update, my internet-connection decided to be stupid.

John slept until about half passed four when he was woken up by Gladstone. The dog was scratching the door looking desperate. 

He was just about to rise from the bed when the door opened just a little, and Sherlock's low whispering voice called the dog out of the room. Gladstone hurried through the crack, and the door closed gently. 

A few moments later he heard the muffled sound of the front door close downstairs. John wondered if it was possible to fall more in love with Sherlock for this. John snuggled into his pillow for another hour. 

Next time he woke it was to two bulldog puppies, neither of which were Gladstone, sitting on his chest. They seemed as surprised as he was that they were there.

By the foot of his bed stood Harry with her arms crossed. She was wearing a red formfitting dress. 

"I'm sure I had a nightmare like this once," said John. "Though the devil was nicer."

"Why is your bathroom a greenhouse?" Harry shifted her stance.

"Velma, Rosie," greeted John the confused puppies on his chest. 

They reacted to the sound of their names by licking his face.

"Why is there a human foot in the refrigerator?"

"Is there any reason why you are here?"

"We met Sherlock in the park with Gladstone," Harry looked around the room, surly noting the signs of two men sleeping together. "I asked him if you had bought the dog food I asked for. He said you hadn't, but he'd do it if we took Gladstone home."

John had no pretence that Sherlock was going to buy dog food. This was clearly revenge for John not telling him about the two week dog sitting they were in for.

"Where is Gladstone?" John managed to untangle himself from the enthusiastic puppies and get off the bed. 

"Downstairs with Gladys and Pamela," Harry gave him a hard look. "Now, you know I am a magistrate, right? What about the bathtub and the foot?"

"Sherlock got permission," shrugged John.

"You are a lousy liar," muttered Harry. 

John gave her a special look he developed just by being her younger brother. He then proceeded to take Velma and Rosie in his arms and carry them down the stairs. 

Pamela was on the sofa, looking through one of Sherlock's forensic journals.

"Hi!" she smiled. "Sorry to wake you."

"Don't worry," said John with a smile. "I was only procrastinating."

He liked Pamela, she was in her early twenties but still managed to keep Harry happy and under control. Maybe, he thought of what he did for Sherlock, she was a kindred spirit. 

Gladys, mother of the three puppies, gave a grunt and a light head-but to John's shin as a form of greeting. John put Velma and Rosie on the floor. Gladstone looked weary of his sisters and stayed back. He followed John the the kitchen. 

"What's this party we are going to tomorrow then?" asked Harry, taking a seat next to Pamela. 

"James' forty-fifth," said John preparing three cups of tea. "He thinks we are just taking him to the pub, but we are eighteen people now."

"How fun," laughed Pamela. "We need to buy him a gift, Harry."

Harry just hummed. 

John served them tea, and they talked about the oncoming trip to Hawaii for about an hour. Harry was also saying some irritative things about Sherlock that John ignored and Pamela soothed over.

When the girls had left and John closed the door behind them, with a 'see you tomorrow', Sherlock stepped out from Mrs. Hudson' flat. 

"I thought they'd never leave." he said walking passed John. 

"I see you didn't buy any dog food."

"Dog food is a lie, John. I have told you this,"

John just sighed and followed Sherlock up the stairs. Gladstone greeted them with a happy bark.

"Should we buy James a gift?" wondered John.

"We are throwing him a party," Shrerlock shrugged his coat and headed for the bathroom. 

"But that's Freddie's money, and..." 

John didn't have time to day anything more because he was interrupted by a angry roar. Sherlock bursted out of the bathroom looking very wild and angry.

"She took one of my samples!" He screamed. "That pestering... She didn't even un-root it! She nipped the stem off! John! The stem!" 

"Oh," said John. 

"'Oh', he says. Bloody 'oh'! 'Oh' won't get sample three point five dash six back, John! Now I only have dash five left from that group!" 

Sherlock took a couple of deep calming breaths. 

"Right," he said hurrying over to the cupboard where he kept, among other things, old glass jars. "John, get your jacket."

"Why?" John questioned, but did as ordered. 

"Because..." Sherlock was filling an old jam-jar with water and adding some blue powder, "...if we can catch up to them within thirty minutes, we can still save the sample!"

"Wait no! I'm not hunting down my sister to..."

Sherlock had already run passed him. John could only follow. 

"Now listen you wench..." Sherlock had his mobile to his ear. "I got your brother here and I'm not afraid to use him to get my sample back."

"Now really..." huffed John as the steped outside. 

"I already use him, you say?" Sherlock spat and continued down the street. "My dear miss Watson, I can assure you he uses me more than I him..."

"I'm right here you know," breathed John.

He could hear Harry's angry voice talking from the phone in his friend's hand. Sherlock stayed quiet and let the verbal abuse go on like it was nothing. They turned at a corner and then another one. 

There they were, standing on the sidewalk, Pamela trying to control three dogs and Harry shouting into her phone.

"How did you know?" asked John.

"I listened to the background noise."

John was impressed, but still a bit irritated.

"Don't talk to my sister about our sex life."

"I was talking about emotional usage," Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Are you calling me a lazy lover?"

"Have no doubt he does," said Harry. 

John ignored both of them.

"Just give us the stupid plant back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: the party!


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned this to be the second to last chapter, but I need one more to wrap it up.  
> So next chapter will be second to last. I will then do a major SPaG before I publish the last and mark it complete.  
> :)

John woke up by eight the next morning with Sherlock hugging him like a giant teddybear. It wasn't a bad way to wake, but he had to be at the clinic in thirty minutes if he wasn't going to loose his job. 

"Sherlock, love, let go," John tried to twist out of the tight hold. "I need to go to work."

"They are only going to give you notice," Sherlock snuggled closer to John's warmth. "You don't have to go all that way just to loose you job."

"Sherlock... I have an obligation to my patients."

"Here, nice warm boyfriend, there, pissed cold boss."

"If you put it that way..." John sighed and leaned back. "You are sure, though? That they are going to fire me today? It's not just something you say because you are comfy?"

"I'm very comfy, but this has been long time coming." 

"Then you have to make it up to me," John scooted a bit so he could kiss Sherlock's forehead. "Cause it's basically your fault."

"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock sounded awake now, and a little bit scared. 

"If I'm going back to living my army-pension, you might have to take cases that are rated four, maybe even three, if we are to make ends meet."

"Oh," Sherlock frowned, but then shook his head. "Nah, sounds boring. Let's just use the fifty thousand dollars I won at the Russian mob-casino by counting cards and then asked Jennie to invest for me in your name."

John didn't say anything for quite a while after that, he might have been in shock. Sherlock took the opportunity to fall asleep again, breathing hot air over John's chest. 

About an hour later John did a very uncomfortable phone call to the clinic. They had called him 'unresponsible' and 'not trustworthy'. The words cringed inside him, because the reason he was loosing the job was because he was very responsible and trustworthy - to Sherlock.

Later John was sitting in front of the computer staring at a very large account he didn't even know he had. 

"When were you going to tell me this?"

"When the need came up," shrugged Sherlock.

John felt a bit angry, but realised that this was just the way Sherlock was. The money would, he noted, have been John's even if he hadn't taken Sherlock back after his return.

"Well," he sighed. "At least we can afford a nice gift for James."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued his disassembling of the toaster. Wait! What?

"For fuck's sake! We haven't have breakfast yet!"

Harry and Pamela arrived with the dogs in the early afternoon. Sherlock immediately locked the bathroom from the outside with a screwdriver. He and Harry glared at each other until John decided it was time to go shopping. Sherlock rather stayed at home with the four dogs alone than come with them. John settled to buying a nice aftershave.

Freddie sent John a text telling everything was going to plan, and that both he and James had gotten the weekend off. No direct threats to international security then. They would meet at the pub as arranged. 

"What I'm really curious about..." said John as he, Sherlock, Harry, Pamela and Mrs Hudson were squeezed into a cab, "...is what Anthea's date is like."

"What do you think, Sherlock?" asked Mrs. Hudson. 

John gave a short laugh, he had already asked Sherlock that, and only gotten a glare as an answer.

"It's beneath him to deduct someone's _type_."

"It's not," Sherlock pouted a little. "It's just, to use a cliche, 'no accounting for taste'. Though, I would say that she probably would go for a man, between five to fifteen years older than her, high educated, powerful but not public, handsome but not noticeable..."

"That's narrowing it down," smiled Pamela.

"Sounds like the people she must work with," said John. "It could even be Mycroft."

"Mycroft isn't handsome!" huffed Sherlock.

"I don't know," smirked John teasingly. "He has a bit of a charm to him."

"Why don't you marry him then?" Sherlock crossed his arms and looked like a angry child. 

The others laughed. John rolled his eyes. 

When they arrived at the pub Clotilde, Jennie and Victor were already by the bar having drinks. 

Jennie hugged Harry and Pamela like they had known each other a lifetime. Though, to be fair, a couple of years as members in a gender/sexuality-support-group _was_ probably a lifetime. 

Sherlock let himself be embraced by his mother. She then continued to talk to Mrs Hudson over how thin Sherlock was like he didn't stand next to them. John was about to help him but caught sight of two people entering the pub. 

"Eve," he smiled at the woman wearing a blue dress. "Nice to see you again.

"And you," she smiled. "Now which one is Q's mother?"

"The taller, over there," John gestured. "But refer to him as Freddie or Frederick."

"Don't worry," Eve winked. "I remember names for a living."

"Alex," John turned to her partner to shake his hand, the plaster was still on but looked well-worn. 

"It's 'Alec', actually," grinned the taller man. " _Alex_ is a code name."

"So..." John hesitated. "Your real name is Alec, and your code name is Alex?"

"Ingenious, isn't it?"

"Don't tell Sherlock that," said John. "He will eat you alive."

He led them to the bar to introduce them. Eve immediately asked Clotilde if she had any baby pictures of Freddie. 

"I only have this one with me," Clotilde began searching her purse like she had just waited for the question. "It's all four boys. The only time Sherlock stood still was when we let him hold his little brother."

"Mother..." sighed Sherlock.

"God, how I hated that school uniform," sighed Jennie. "The girls got to wear checkered skirts, I was so jealous. My best mate gave me one of hers."

John was about to lean forward to look at the picture, but he was roughly grabbed by Sherlock and almost manhandled towards the new arrival by the door.

"Oh look, John!" he said. "It's the handsome one!"

Mycroft looked insulted. 

"Mummy is showing the picture," said Sherlock. 

"God," Myctoft sighed. "Is there an open bar?"

"Freddie's tab."

"Good enough," Mycroft walked to the bar.

"Now I really want to see that picture," said John. 

"Mycroft at ten isn't a pretty sight."

"How about you at three?"

"I hated haircuts, let's leave it at that." 

Greg and Molly arrived together two minutes later. It turned out that Molly and Eve had gone to the same grade-school as children. Eve was two years older. 

Greg ended up talking to Mycroft, which was probably what he wanted. Sherlock didn't look happy about that. 

"John Watson?" 

John turned to see a man his own hight and age, but with dark thinning hair. 

"Yes?"

"Bill Tanner," said the man offering his hand. "I work with _Fred_. He said I should tell you they will be here in ten minutes."

"Oh good," John smiled. "Welcome, nice to meet you. Get yourself a drink. I'm sure you know Eve and Alec over there."

"Cheers," said Tanner waiving at Eve.

"Grab your drinks and go upstairs," announced John clapping his hands to get attention. "The guest of honour will soon be here."

As they moved towards the stairs, Sherlock sticking close to Greg, the front door opened again. John was surprised to see Eve, Alec, Tanner and Mycroft stop directly in their tracks and stare at the couple entering the pub. 

It was Anthea and her date. John looked over the man, and was surprised how well he seemed to sum up Sherlock's earlier deductions. In his late forties, tall and handsome but discrete, defiantly confident in a way power brings. And further more, John knew him.

"Colonel?" he asked his former commander. "Sir, this is a surprise."

"Indeed, Captain," smiled Gareth Mallory shaking his hand. "I was amused to see your name in the security report."

"What report, sir?" John asked hesitantly.

"When you tried to hijack my car and kidnap my personal assistant," the Colonel grinned.

John glanced to Anthea, who just looked smug holding on to Mallory's arm, and then back to the other man. He fought the urge to stand attention when he slowly realised that his former officer-in-command was now the head of MI6. John took a breath.

"Con- congratulations on your promotion, sir."

"Thank you, _Doctor_ ," he said, emphasising the civilian title.

Mallory's eyes drifted to the small group on the stairs staring back at him, he nodded at Mycroft, who just rolled his eyes. 

John managed to collect himself and direct the couple to the bar. He felt Sherlock's hand resting on his back and leaned towards it. 

"I think I love her a little," said Sherlock indicating Anthea. "I haven't seen Mycroft that shocked since Jennie dressed Freddy and me up in Mommy's underwear and made us have a tea party." 

"Why on earth did you agree to that?" John felt slightly miffed over the mental image.

"I was five and wanted a book about magic tricks," Sherlock shrugged. "Look sharp. Birthday boy approaching."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I made a mistake earlier when I wrote 'Alex' instead of 'Alec', but this way was more fun than just changing a letter. ;)


	17. Seventeen

It wasn't clear if James was surprised by the party, but he was surprised by the guests. Frankly speaking, _John_ was surprised by the guests, and he had invited them.

The pub had catered for a impressive walking table with different kinds of cold meats, vegetables, bread and cakes. There was also a small bar, with opportunity to buy more downstairs. A pleasant selection of soft rock music was coming out two speakers in the wall at a fair volume.

John glanced to Harry, who was glancing at the bar, but she had Pamela, Jennie and her own resolution watching over her. She was currently drinking tonic water and talking to Mallory. 

"Molly," John said. "This is James Bond, the birthday boy. James, this is Molly Hooper, a good friend of mine and Sherlock's."

"Charmed," said James with a flirtatious smile and kissed her hand. 

Molly just giggled and nearly dropped her glass. She was even more giggly and nervous when she was introduced to Freddie, which actually seemed to confuse James. John smiled because he knew Molly still hadn't entirely gotten over her crush on Sherlock.

Sherlock was pulling his _parlour trick_ on Alec who had just approached him to say hello. That was to say, Sherlock was deducting Alec's entire life out of arrogance and boredom. 

But only after a few sentences Alec had Sherlock pushed up against the wall with a hand around his neck. 

The different reactions in the room would be quite funny, if John's boyfriend currently wasn't strangled by a trained assassin. 

Mycroft, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, Clotilde, Jennie and Victor just shook their heads, rolled their eyes, and continued their conversations. Anthea wasn't even looking up from her phone. Harry looked excited. Molly, and Pamela were fretting. Mallory, Tanner and Freddy were barking orders. Eve was confused. James tackled Alec, and John hurried to Sherlock's side.

"Interesting move," Sherlock cleared his throat and loosened his collar. "I believe you have spent some time in Tibet?"

"How...?" 

Alec was being dragged away by James. Mallory, Eve and Tanner followed. 

"You really should have seen that coming," said Freddy to his brother. 

Sherlock just huffed. He let John check his neck for a short moment before getting impatient and batting his hands away. 

"I'm fine." 

Sherlock corrected his jacket and walked over to the bar, John followed. 

"Were you expecting him to say 'piss off'?" he asked as Sherlock shallowed down one of the ready drinks. 

"No, Doctor Watson, I was expecting him to leave me alone." 

"It's a party," John took two drinks, gave one to Sherlock and nudged him towards the others. "You are supposed to meet people, not push them away. Please, at least for Freddie's and my sake, behave."

"Fine," pouted Sherlock and walked away. 

John watched as Mallory came over to speak to Sherlock. He really wanted to listen to what was said, but he took the opportunity to ask Clotilde to look a the photo. 

It was indeed of the four brothers. Jennie as a young teen, Mycroft as a chubby ten-year-old, Sherlock at three with long black curls, and Freddie as a very cute baby in Sherlock's small arms. 

"They don't like me showing it around," Clotilde sighed. "But it's the only one with all four of them being nice at the same time. They won't let me take a new one either, something about some secrets-act or other."

John nodded sympathetically. 

"Can I have one of Sherly and you together?" she looked down at him with excited eyes. 

"I guess..." said John, knowing how much Sherlock hated to have his picture taken, but if it was for his mother it should be fine. 

"I can take one with the telephone-thingy Mycroft gave me," she began rummaging through her bag. "Hold my glass."

John took the glass and looked around for Sherlock. He was still standing with Mallory, obviously deducing the man. Mallory looked as John remembered him looking before a Afghani mob, calm and mildly interested. Hopefully Sherlock would come away alive, there was a bodyguard by the stairs watching his every move. 

"I would love to hear what he is saying," said Mycroft, suddenly standing beside his mother. "I think Sherlock will unearth more secrets about that man by just looking at him than I ever could. You worked with him, didn't you John?"

"I did," nodded John. "On my second tour." 

"My-bear," Clotilde held up her mobile to Mycroft. "How did the camera work again?"

"Mummy," sighed Mycroft, taking the small apparatus from her. "Please, don't call me that in public."

John smirked and looked away. 

He sipped his drink slowly. The mood of the party was good. Everyone seemed to have found someone to talk to. 

Molly had positioned herself to serve the potato salad. John ought to tell her that it wasn't her job, but she seemed content to help. She scooped up a spoonful of salad on Tanner's plate, he made a joke, she laughed. 

Jennie was seemingly describing her sex-change operation in great detail to James, who looked a bit green. Freddie, Victor, and Harry, who had heard the story before, were more entertained by James' reaction that the story itself. 

Alec, Eve and Anthea were eating. It looked like Anthea was trying to calm the couple down about Sherlock. 

Pamela and Mrs Hudson were talking to Greg, probably about Mycroft since they were both glancing towards him. 

"So..." John tried to sound nonchalant, which he failed and Mycroft looked at him suspiciously. "Going to make a move on Greg? He seems interested."

"Lestrade?" Mycroft frowned at him. "Interested in what?" 

"In you, of course."

"That's absurd." Mycroft lost his cool exterior for a moment. 

"Oh," Clotilde looked up from her mobile. "That handsome man from the police? He seems very nice, My-bear."

" _Mummy_."

John wished he could continue looking at Mycroft squirming, but he was pulled away by Sherlock grabbing hold of his arm.

"I played nice," said Sherlock.

"Are you deemed a threat to national security?"

"Always," smirked Sherlock. "Though they are lucky I'm on their side."

"How many drinks have you had?" 

"Not enough, and neither have you," Sherlock leaned forward.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Mr Holmes?"

They moved closer. A flash of light suddenly went off. John and Sherlock jumped apart. 

"There!" said Clotilde proudly. "I managed to take a picture."

Freddie took the mobile from her and looked at it. 

"Maybe you should take one were they don't look like they want to jump each other's bones."

"I think they look sweet," said Molly looking over Freddie's shoulder. 

"They look horny," said James. 

"Sweet and horny," said Jennie.

"It's a good look on them," noted Clotilde.

"Mother!" Sherlock gritted his teeth. 

John pulled his arm.

"Let's have that drink."

The evening continued to go well from there. There was a bit of commotion when James and Alec decided to arm wrestle, and when Molly and Tanner started kissing. 

Sherlock and Freddie got drunk and started drawing up blueprints for some sort of a machine on several napkins. They were both convinced that Mycroft wanted to steal it from them.

Mycroft couldn't care less, since he was trying and failing at flirting with Greg. Luckily, Greg seemed to think he was cute just for trying. 

Clotilde and Mrs. Hudson left by cab at midnight, both tired and tipsy. Clotilde was going to sleep in John's old room at Baker Street.

John and Janes sat, both quite buzzed, quietly watching Sherlock and Freddie invent their machine and making it safe from Mycroft. It was fascinating seeing the two intoxicated geniuses work. 

The rest of the guests started dancing.


	18. Eighteen

Neither Sherlock nor Freddie wanted to go home when the pub closed at three, they were on a mission. What that mission was wasn't sure, except that it should be kept from Mycroft at all costs. 

Again Mycroft didn't care. He said his goodnights and offered the drunk and sleepy Detective Inspector a ride home. Greg answered by falling into his arms and then falling asleep. All, except for Sherlock and Freddie who were too busy, agreed that that meant 'yes'.

Jennie called for her car and offered Harry and Pamela a ride. Pamela promised to call John the next day to check in on the dogs. 

"Will you be alright?" John asked Molly. 

"I think so," she smiled sleepily leaned against Tanner's shoulder. 

"I'll see her home," said Tanner, slightly unsteady on his feet. "The boss is giving us a ride."

He motioned to a far too familiar car that Mallory and Anthea was just entering. John nodded and gave Molly's arm a squeeze. 

"Come on John!" called Sherlock. "We are loosing time!"

"Yeah!" agreed Freddie, hooking Sherlock's arm with his own. "What he said."

James was saying goodnight to Alec and Eve. They said they were going for a walk and then take a cab, but John guessed one of them didn't live far away from there. 

"How's it going?" asked James when he jogged up to him. 

"Not as bad as them," laughed John, indicating the two brothers who already had gotten to the end of the street. "We should get some more food in them." 

"Great party," James quickened their pace. "Thank you."

"Freddie paid for it," John shrugged.

"Thank you for helping him then," James gave him a quick smile. "I know he doesn't have time to plan anything like this."

When they caught up with Sherlock and Freddie, the brothers were waiting with a cab. The cabbie, a Pakistani man in his forties, looked to John.

"Are you responsible for these?" he asked.

"We are," said James.

"Two two one!" said Sherlock, dragging Freddie into the cab. 

"He means Baker Street," said John, thankful that they were going home. 

The cabbie nodded and gestured them to get in. 

"Bond," said Freddie, trying push his glasses up his nose, succeeding to push them off his face instead. "Have you got the data?"

"I got it," James took up the wad of napkin blueprints from his pocket.

John retrieved the glasses and put them back on Freddie. Sherlock was looking out the window, seemingly mesmerised by the lights of the city, but turned to Freddie when he noticed the napkins. 

John admired them both for sticking so hard to their imagined task. If he has been in their state, he wouldn't be able to hold long technical conversations, let alone draw them on napkins. 

When they arrived to Baker Street John payed the cabbie. Freddie pushed the napkins on James. 

"Protect the intel."

"Yes, love."

When they got up to the flat they were attacked by four happy bulldogs. 

"God!" gasped Freddie as he lost his balance and Gladstone jumped to get to his face. "It has multiplied!"

"How much did you feed him?" asked Sherlock trying to lift Gladys, who was twice the size as her puppies. 

James pushed away the puppies from Freddie and horded them towards John. 

"The treat had been eliminated, sir."

"Good man," Freddie was on his back on the floor, glasses askew. 

"Let's use John's computer," said Sherlock. 

"Let's not," said John, taking his computer under his arm, and turning to James. "Nightcap?"

"Sure"

They walked to the kitchen, followed by the dogs. Sherlock and Freddie found Sherlock's computer instead, claiming the sofa. 

John poured two glasses of amber whisky. 

"I hope we don't wake up to them taking over the world."

"Tabs on South America," said James and raised his glass. 

"Australia," said John. 

They clinked the glasses together.

\-----

John woke up in bed with a headache, though he had worse. His head rested on a arm, not that strange, but this arm was much more muscular than he was used to. 

He blinked open his eyes, noting that he was nuzzled up with James Bond. Both of them were fully dressed, sans shoes, and above the covers. And very comfortable. 

"Is there a reason..." asked Clotilde's smiling voice from the doorway. "Why my baby boys are tangled up on the sofa with napkins for covers, while their boyfriends are in bed together?" 

"I'm just borrowing him," said James without opening his eyes. 

John just chuckled. He was too tired to care. Besides he didn't mind being borrowed, just as long as he was given back to Sherlock in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Third part will be along as soon as I finish some per stuff :)


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